beyond
by ulstergirl
Summary: Written for Nancy Drew Yuletide 2013. Prompt: Before her wedding - her engagement party, perhaps - Carson gives Nancy a letter her mother wrote for her for the occasion, with the assumption that she died from a longterm disease and knew she'd miss important events in Nancy's life. Set early in the Mystery Stories, in the 1940s.


**This is set in the late 1940s, and fits in with the original canon - that Nancy's mother died when she was ten years old.**

* * *

The reception hall at the Mapleton church was decorated in pale blue and ivory, to match Nancy's wedding colors. Nancy walked into the church that Sunday afternoon with a happy smile on her face; her soon-to-be mother-in-law, Edith, ushered Nancy in and adjusted her bride-to-be veil just-so atop her golden hair.

The event was her last shower before her wedding the following month, and Nancy already felt very blessed. She and Ned had received a nearly-complete set of their wedding china, both formal and casual flatware and servingware, and a wedding-ring quilt hand-sewn by Ned's grandmother. Mrs. Chandler had made Ned and Nancy promise that they would spread it over their own bed the first night they spent in their new home.

Edith had been very willing to help Nancy with the plans, and Nancy was grateful. While she and Ned had decided on a small ceremony, they still wanted it to be elegant and beautiful. The event was going to be formal, by candlelight—Nancy and Edith had considered several different ways to light the aisle and the altar—and correspondingly intimate. Nancy's gown was floor-length ivory satin and lace with a long train and embellished veil, and she was going to carry a bouquet of deep-red and white roses. Bess, George, and Helen were going to wear pale blue lace gowns with pearl-embellished sashes and pearl necklaces.

After the war rationing, planning the reception had felt almost decadent, and the wedding shower was well-appointed too. Ned's aunt had brought a beautiful delicate white-frosted cake, and Nancy's aunt Eloise had brought a selection of small sandwiches. Lemon slices floated in the sweet lemonade punch, served in a cut-glass bowl.

Few men had been invited to the shower. Ned and James were there, although they were staying out of sight; they had helped take up the reception hall's long tables and chairs to set up for the party, and they would help put everything back into place after. Nancy's father had driven his sister to the shower, and soon enough he was with Ned and James behind the church. The three of them were listening to the game on the radio in the Nickersons' car, eating a few small sandwiches. Edith had felt sorry for them and provided the snack as compensation for their assistance.

That afternoon's shower had been organized to provide Nancy with supplies for her kitchen. She was given Bundt pans and molds, several lovely casserole dishes, cast-iron pans, a coffee maker and a toaster oven, mixing bowls and spoons, and measuring cups. At each successive present she was again overwhelmed with gratitude. Many of the women in attendance were friends of Ned's family, and they had accepted her thanks to that association. The wedding shower she had been given at her father's church had been well-attended too, but they knew her there.

After the shower was finished, the last remaining pieces of cake and sandwiches distributed, Ned and James began to pack up the shower gifts to be transported to Nancy and Ned's new home. His parents had put down a significant payment for them, and they were already putting it in order so it would be ready for them when they returned from their wedding trip.

Nancy was just hugging Edith goodbye when her father approached her. "Thank you again, Mrs. Nickerson," Carson said, and then he smiled. "I suppose soon enough you will _both_ be Mrs. Nickerson."

Nancy smiled at her father. "We will," she said happily.

"It was no trouble at all, Mr. Drew. The ladies of the church were happy to help them set up their new home, and after today, I think they'll want for very little."

Nancy nodded. "They were all very generous," she said. "I'm very grateful for all they've given us—and all you and Mr. Nickerson have given us, too."

Edith smiled. "Let me make sure the boys put the tables back in the right place. I'll see you tomorrow, Nancy?"

After she hurried back into the reception hall, Carson offered Nancy his arm. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Nancy nodded curiously. She knew that Ned and her father had always respected each other; Ned had talked to Carson when he had first begun asking Nancy out socially, and again when he finished his coursework at Emerson, indicating his intention to ask for her hand in marriage. As her father had told her several times, if he had not been sure both that Ned was an honorable man and that Nancy wanted to be with him, he wouldn't have given Ned his consent or approval.

Ned had long been her favorite escort. After the years of their courtship, she couldn't imagine being happier with anyone else by her side.

They walked a few steps away from the church, and Carson released a soft sigh.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

He reached up and briefly pinched the bridge of his nose, and when he reached into his jacket, for an absurd second, she wondered if he was about to serve her with a subpoena to appear before the court. The envelope he produced, though, was a soft blush-pink ivory, made of thick sturdy paper, slightly yellowed at the edges.

_For Nancy._

The handwriting was her mother's. Nancy recognized it easily, though her mother had died ten years earlier.

Nancy felt her heart stop, her throat grow thick as he handed it to her.

"She left this for you," Nancy's father said, his voice deep and almost thick with emotion. "After—after she was sick, that first time. She asked me to give it to you before your wedding."

Nancy accepted the envelope, swallowing hard. "Thank you," she said softly.

He nodded once, his jaw tight. "I understand that you and Ned will be taking the shower gifts to the new house?"

Nancy nodded. "Yes. He asked if I might have dinner with him, as well."

Carson nodded. "Then we will expect you afterward." He gave his daughter a small smile. "I love you very much, Nancy."

She released his arm and wrapped him in a hug. "I love you too, Dad."

After her father and aunt left the church, Nancy took the veil out of her hair and smoothed it down, then smoothed the skirt of her spring-yellow day dress. The beautiful heirloom diamond ring Ned had given her after she agreed to marry him sparkled on her left hand.

A letter from her mother. A thousand butterflies seemed to crowd in her stomach.

Then Ned walked around the corner of the church, shirt sleeves rolled up, in pressed slacks and dress shoes, and Nancy smiled at the familiar sight of him. He smiled back, and her heart constricted in love for him.

"There you are. Ready to take our presents to the house?"

Nancy nodded, then folded her arm through his.

Their future home was a little closer to Chicago than River Heights was, but it was still on the outskirts of the city. It was modest and the yard wasn't very large, but it was theirs and Nancy loved it. Just the week before she and Edith had put up the curtains, and Nancy commented happily on the welcome mat Ned had placed in front of the door.

Unloading the car didn't take long, and Nancy was distracted the entire time by the envelope in her purse. She was fully aware that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on dinner with her fiancé until she had read it, but she didn't want to be impolite and excuse herself to read it.

Ned looked at all the dishes and the new appliances and smiled. "I suppose I should let you put these away, since you'll be the one using them more often," he said.

Nancy nodded. "But some mornings you might be the one making coffee," she pointed out with a smile.

"That is very true." Ned slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. "I can't believe we'll be living here, together, next month," he said more quietly, and kissed the crown of her head. "I can't wait."

Nancy smiled and leaned against his shoulder. "Nor can I," she said softly. "I love you, Ned."

"I love you too, darling."

She moved away from him to look up into his eyes. "I apologize, but—do we have reservations for dinner?"

He shook his head. "No, and I know you might not be hungry yet," he said. "Did you have something else in mind?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "I received a letter that I haven't had a chance to read yet, and I wondered if you'd mind," she said. "I hate to be impolite..."

"No, no. It's all right. Your father gave me a note I hadn't had a chance to read either."

Nancy swallowed hard, raising her eyebrows. "You received a letter as well?"

Ned nodded.

"May I see it?" Her voice was almost faint.

Ned showed it to her willingly. The still-sealed envelope was addressed in her mother's handwriting as well.

Nancy reached for Ned's hand, and together they went to the living room. The late afternoon sunlight was just beginning to fade, but the room was flooded with soft golden light. They sat down together on the couch, and Nancy could sense the question on his lips, but he didn't ask it.

She had to release Ned's hand to open the envelope, but his proximity was reassuring regardless. She swallowed hard before she opened the folded sheets.

The date at the top was just over six months before the day her mother had died.

Nancy sniffled. She didn't understand why it was affecting her so; she had mourned the loss of her mother and come to terms with it, but when she saw her mother's handwriting again, it felt like her death hadn't been ten years earlier, but a day ago.

_My dearest daughter,_

_I hope that what the doctor has told me isn't true, and that his diagnosis is needlessly pessimistic. I hope that in a few years I will tear this letter to shreds with laughter on my lips and speak these words to you myself._

_But I cannot predict, though, what will happen in the years between. Maybe Providence will not provide me safe passage through this; maybe other circumstances will part us. Still, my heart aches that I write this letter at all._

_I love you, Nancy. I have loved you from the moment I felt you move in my belly, and I love you still, as I write and as you read these words. In you I see the best of myself and the best of your father, and I am so proud of you, of all you are and all I know you'll be. I couldn't have asked for a better daughter._

_Now you're an adult. I find it hard to imagine. As I write this, you're nine years old, out in the backyard having "adventures" with Helen; last night at the dinner table you announced to your father and me that you would never marry, that instead you would visit all the continents, maybe by piloting your own airplane there. You were entirely undaunted by the prospect. We Austin women have always been rather courageous, so I can't say I was entirely surprised._

_If you never marry, I would not be any less proud of you. Marriage isn't easy, and it isn't for everyone. For all I know, you could form a lifelong bond with one of your friends and explore the globe with her, and be happy as a lark. In either event, I would give you the same advice: be cautious when meeting people, but when you find someone you can trust, treasure him or her and keep that person close. Plan for the worst to happen, but expect the best to happen. When you're almost old enough to drive a car, ask your father to show you how to change a tire; I can already see in your eyes that the backyard won't be large enough for you, for long. Be polite even to those who aren't, because being impolite proves only a vulgar disposition. Help others when you can, because many people weren't born with the privileges you were. And always, always, be true to yourself._

_My dearest one, if you marry and I am not there to see it..._

_Please be cautious, Nancy. Love isn't enough to make you compatible with another person for life, but when it is absent, if there is no affection there will only be misery. Please don't rush into marriage, no matter how strong the love you feel might be._

_I know that not even twelve hours ago, you swore that you would never marry, so it seems foolish to write this now. But you might change your mind, and if you find someone who can give you as much happiness as your father has given me, I would be glad to see you with him. I hope that he has earned your heart; I hope that he is a good, decent, honorable man. Your father is an excellent judge of character, and if he has met your fiancé and approves of him, that is as ringing an endorsement as I could ever expect._

_But we do not always know everything, Nancy._

_If he becomes the worse for drink, please reconsider. No love can undo the evil that might cause._

_If he ever raises his hand to you in anger, no matter how much you love him, walk out as fast as you can and go to your father. Your love cannot save that man, and one of your great-aunts found that out too late. There is no shame in leaving, even if it breaks your heart, if the alternative is that your life might be lost or lived only in fear. If any of your friends ever find themselves in that situation, please give her that same advice, and be there for her._

_I hope the man you love does not seek to change you, but loves you for all that you are. I hope that he cherishes you, and that he loves you with his whole heart—and that he is your equal in every way. Marriage should be about compromise, and your wishes and desires will not always be in concert with his unless you are truly blessed, but you should not always be the one who gives in; nor should he._

_Please, find a man you genuinely _like_, who is your friend, underneath the passion of your love for him. One day you might look at that man across the dinner table and discover that you do not love him as you once did, but if he is your friend and partner, that realization will not be the end of the world._

_If you can look at him and know with all certainty, no doubt at all, that the man who has asked for your hand is fully worthy of it, that he would follow you to the ends of the earth and back and you would do the same for him, then I give you all the blessing that is mine to give. I wish you happiness and safety, and love and joy, and that one day you will be blessed with children you love just as I love you._

_And when you walk down the aisle to him on your wedding day, if I am not there to see it, and you can, please wear the pearls my mother gave me for my own wedding day. It gives me some comfort to know that a piece of me might be with you._

_But I think that I have given you the larger piece of myself already, a piece you will always carry with you. You have my heart._

_Please know, if you're reading this, that I never wished to leave you. I love you so very much, my daughter. And if we have been parted, I must believe that we will be reunited. I cannot bear the thought of the alternative._

_I love you, Nancy. Be strong and brave and generous, just as I know you are. I wish you every happiness in the world, my daughter, but above all I wish you love._

Nancy looked up from the letter, conscious that her eyes were streaming and swollen, her lashes and cheeks wet. Without her will she had been crying steadily from the first words, and she felt as though her mother's breath was still warm at her ear, that if she went to her father's house she would find her mother in the window seat with her small correspondence desk, warm sunlight in her hair. Her stomach twisted with the loss, all over again.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice shaking, squeezing her eyes tight shut, and another pair of tears slipped down her cheeks.

Ned whispered her name, and she felt him slip his arm around her shoulders. She let him draw her to him, and when he touched her hand she laced her fingers through his, holding tight.

"Shh," Ned whispered. "Shh. It's all right, Nancy."

It took a long, long moment for her to master herself; by then the light was softer, the shadows longer. Ned offered her his handkerchief and she took it gratefully, wiping her face. When she thought she had herself under control again, she sniffled and handed the square of cloth back to him, then looked up into his face.

"I love you," he told her softly.

"And I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes when he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered there, and she found her arm was around his shoulders; they lingered in that embrace for a long moment, then reluctantly released each other.

"Are you all right?"

Nancy sniffled again, then nodded. "Yes," she murmured. "I think so. What—oh, I shouldn't ask..."

Ned smiled, and she felt a slight movement against her leg. She looked down and saw another sheet of unfolded paper in her lap. It was dated three months after the letter she had received.

_To the man my daughter has decided to marry:_

_Cherish her. Love her without ceasing; be patient with her and kind to her, and above all, be her friend. Show her every day that you hold no one else above her, and that you are worthy of her love and respect. Let her be your equal, as I hope you already know she is._

_Know that if you hurt her, you have my hatred and my contempt._

_Know that if you love her and she loves you, if you treat her well, you have all my blessings. Be her support and her joy, and may you both have a long and happy life together._

_Show her that she is cherished, as I no longer can._

Nancy tried to swallow her sob, but she couldn't. Ned put his arms around her and she hugged him hard, stifling herself against him. He gently stroked her hair, making soft comforting sounds, and she ached with such longing. She wished with all her heart that her mother could have met Ned; she would have seen that her fears were for naught.

"I do," Ned whispered. "I do cherish and love you with all my heart, and you will have all my support and all my love for the rest of our lives, Nancy. I'll show you every single day that you are so, so very important to me..."

Nancy pulled back and reached up, cupping his cheeks in her palms as she gazed into his dark, serious eyes. She gave him a small smile. "I would follow you to the end of the earth and back," she whispered.

"And I would do the same for you."

"I know," she told him, and smiled again. "You're the only man in the world for me, Ned Nickerson."

"And you're the only one for me." Ned leaned down and planted a gentle, soft kiss against her tear-slicked lips. "I love you, Nancy Drew."

Once she freshened herself up, she and Ned departed for their dinner, and she considered it, not for the first time. The cadence and sound of his voice were soothing to her, and whenever his fingertips brushed hers, the sensation sent a delicious tingling down her spine. She had seen Ned drink, but he didn't drink to excess around her; they had disagreed, but those disagreements had never been physical.

But a part of her knew and understood what her mother had meant, in how dangerous love could be. It felt deep in her bones, and it sang in her blood; no fists, not even his, could beat that love out of her. If the unthinkable happened and she did leave, she would carry a broken heart with her. But she believed it never would.

Ned had always, _always_ been a gentleman. He had always treated her with respect and courtesy. He had fought for her safety and bled for her; he had shared countless dances with her, had stolen fewer kisses than she had longed to give him.

And, he had told her more than once, she had utterly captured his heart. He would sooner hurt himself than he would hurt her.

Their meal was leisurely and well-prepared, and Ned was solicitous; he could tell that she still felt a little off her usual equilibrium after reading her mother's letter, and he kept his conversation light and easy. Though she knew she would see him again the following day, as he turned onto her father's street to leave her at home for the night, she couldn't help missing him already.

He parked the car, then came around to her side to open her door for her. Nancy smiled at him when he offered his hand and lifted her out; the gaze he turned on her was warm and loving.

They clasped hands as they walked up the stone path to the front door. The neighborhood smelled of fresh-mown grass and new-blown flowers. Everything around them was coming to life again, blooming in the spring, and soon she would be a new bride.

Their steps slowed as they reached the front porch. "Ned?"

"Yes, love?"

She turned to face him, their hands still joined. "I'd like to wear her pearls," she said softly. "On our wedding day."

He nodded. "I think that would be very nice," he replied, just as softly. "I wish I'd met her. She sounds like a very strong woman."

"She was." Nancy smiled. "That was part of why it was so hard to believe that she was truly so sick. She was so... so full of life. Until she was too sick to do anything anymore." Nancy sniffled, then wiped at her eyes.

"I wish I could show her that you're in good hands," Ned said softly. "That I love and cherish you and I always will. That you've grown up to be a remarkable woman. I'm grateful to be with you. I'm so grateful to be able to share my life with you."

Nancy sniffled again, then reached up to cup his cheek. "She would have loved you," she murmured. "I know she would have. You're everything she ever wished I would find, and more."

Ned smiled, then leaned down and kissed her cheek gently. "Sleep well, darling," he said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned and softly, gently pressed her lips to his. "And soon," she whispered, "every morning and every evening for the rest of our lives."

"Soon," he agreed softly. "Not soon enough. I love you, Nancy."

"And I love you," she whispered.


End file.
